The Sash
by Cyanide Disaster
Summary: The night Fenris and Hawke shared through my eyes, the meaning behind the sash on his wrist and the pain it both caused them. FemHawke/Fenris.  Please try to ignore this in any place other than the Dragon Age Section until Error Type 2 is resolved.
1. The Sash

_AN: I haven't written anything in a while. I've lost my muse for my other FF. But since I bought DA2, I haven't been able to think of any thing else other than Fenris and those pretty eyes he has. 3 _

_I've always kinda wondered 'why a red sash?' and this is my explanation. Reviews and Critique welcome!_

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**The Sash**

His bare feet sounded loud to his own ears as he crossed the threshold to meet the woman who had plagued his mind. Undeservedly so, she had only wanted to help him, he could see it now. After he'd ripped out that _bitch's _heart she had tried to comfort him and he had been so ungrateful.

Pulling himself back into reality he looked up at Hawke, a bewildered look on her face, concern in those odd-lyrium coloured eyes. He watched as her lips parted to speak, but close again. A strand of her strawberry blond locks falling in front of those eyes.

Resisting the urge to brush the strand away, Fenris spoke, "I took my anger out on you, Hawke, and you did not deserve such treatment." His voice rumbled in his chest, and he could not meet her eyes, and missed the small shiver than ran down her spine. A small sigh left his lips, "Command me to go, and I will."

He had not expected what had come next, a breathy sigh came from the woman in front of him, her soft face tilted as she offered him a smile, "I was worried about you..." Her face was filled with emotions and expressions he had never seen on her before. Before the other's she was the hardened woman who'd seen almost everything. She was decisive and strong, for everyone. But now, her face was open, vulnerable. Something in his chest tightened, this strange emotion rising as he noted mentally she only shared her vulnerability with him. Her voice was soft, timid almost, "Please don't go."

Fenris was unable to control his next movements, within seconds he was pressed against her. Lips greedily claiming her's. Her back was pressed roughly against the wall next to the door. He could feel the silky smooth feel of her dress tearing against his clawed gauntlets and he grasped her rear. A noise of pleasure rocked her body, sending a sensation he couldn't describe down to pool in his abdomen.

Finger tips touched the markings on his neck, and for once, he did not wince or cringe away from the contact. The feel of her touch nearly erased the memories of the magisters tearing his flesh to input the lyrium. He wished he could remember her soft, lingering touches instead.

His eyes snapped open as he felt her pull her lips away from his, and a cool feeling settled in on him, was she going to reject him? Throw him out for what he was? He felt his defences rising, but when his gaze focused it focused on her lips. Bruised from his assault and being run over by a tiny pink tongue.

She breathed his name softly as she ran her fingers through his hair, her eyes flickering across his features. "Should we... take this to my room?"

Though her voice was strong, he could still feel that timid tone she had spoken with earlier and he softened. His hands were still firmly planted on her rear and continued to be so as he lifted her from the ground, her surprised yelp making a smirk play across his face. He no longer could see the whole picture, as his vision tunnelled to her face. Cheeks pink, lips parted and panting, eyes half lidded with desire. Those piercing green eyes of his flicked over each freckle on her face as he felt her thighs go around his hips.

He barely knew he had carried her the whole way there until he felt her slide from his grasp and onto the plush bed. She bounced twine before resting still, hands reaching out, needy for him. Those delectable and dangerous digits of hers came around his arms, easing off his gauntlets with surprising knowledge.

Fenris soon found himself on his knees on her bed, hovered over her, her bare legs caught under his hips, her boots already been kicked off to join those claws of his. Hawke's breasts rose and fell quickly; her robe already loosened and parted slightly, the red sash from it in one of his tattooed hands. He met her smile with a small one of his own.

As her lips came back to his, his hands found the latches and hooks of his own armour, pulling off the chest-piece and tossing it off the bed with surprising little care. Her fingers were in his shirt before he knew what was happening. His breath hitched as her fingers found the markings easily. Touching them softly and tunnelling his thoughts onto her and her sensual touches.

He grew impatient quickly grasping her wrists with his hands and pinning her to her own bed. His face and inch from hers. Their noses touching and breath mingling. He could taste her on his tongue, smell her sweet scent – it reminded him of the ocean -, and hear her unstable intakes of air. "I've been thinking of you Hawke, I've been unable to think of much else..." He found himself spilling this to the panting woman below him.

Hawke flushed even deeper, but Fenris kept right on speaking, "I do not understand you, you are unlike any woman I've ever met, yet I couldn't have you any other way. You seem not to care that I was a slave, that I am marked—"

She cut him off with a swift kiss, arching herself under him, her hands still trapped. "I don't care that you were a slave, Fenris." She spoke rather strong, though she was obviously having a hard time breathing. "I want you for who you are, if you'll let me."

_She wants me?_ His mental voice seemed amazed, but he was an elf, a former slave. Yet she said she didn't care. And those beautiful, vulnerable eyes could not lie to him. He felt himself smile before lowering his lips to hers. Their kiss started off soft, and then it began to grow in passion as her mouth formed against his, soft noises seeping into him, making him drunk on her.

He released her hands and grasped the sides of the partly open robes and pulled them back, hands moving to grasp the ivory breasts, flecked with permanent freckles. His fingers kneaded the soft skin as she arched against him, muttering his name. He could feel himself press against the tight leather of his trousers, and if he could, she could. Her hips firmly against his, rocking up to meet his.

A growl escaped his lips as he pulled the shirt her hands had once against found their way under, off, over his head. He felt her gasp against his lips, her lips pulled back and eyes opened, roving his chest and he paid homage to her breasts. Mouth licking, kissing and biting down to those breasts. A strangled moan left her at the unexpected sensation of him.

Hawke quickly made work of his pants, and once they were gone, she slipped herself out of the robe. In a way Fenris couldn't understand. She felt him then; every inch of his darker skin was pressed against her ivory form. She filled every nook and cranny in his body in the most natural way, her fingers caressing and digging into his back as he moved up on the bed, cradling her head in his hand before laying it on the pillows. Those strands of orange-yellow hair fanned out against the silk. She gave him a look, a look of complete and utter trust and he met the stare with his own. She smiled softly to him as her fingers dragged down his back to grasp his rear, her hips rising to meet his.

A hiss sounded from Fenris at the touch. It was... foreign, and beautiful, and everything he wanted to have. Possessively the elf grasped her hips and angled them just right against his, pushing himself into the surprisingly hot and wet core of her. Her gasps, whimpers and mantra's of his name were almost too much, too soon.

Though, before he knew it, he was deeply pressed into her, he felt whole, complete. Something else too, that he could not yet describe. Her body was shuddering under his, delightfully so, her lip bitten down on so hard he swore she was going to hurt herself. So he took her lips into his own. The kiss was jarringly more satisfying now that they were joined, he noted, somewhat incoherently. Soon, he was moving inside of her, and she against him. Their voices seemed to intermingle as they pushed against each other, craving each other's heat and desire, feeding off each other.

Hawke was the first to break, a sob of a moan escaped her, her back arching, pressing her breasts firmly against Fenris's chest. He felt it then, the clenching of her muscles against him and his hips pushed into her's. Those muscles of her's holding onto him, milking him as she moaned, his name nearly being screamed. His voice broke as he whispered into her ear, "Nn... say it... say it..."

"I w-want you! F-Fenris!" She screamed one last time as she felt her body come to a shuddering halt, lips parted in a silent scream of passion. Body clamped down tight around him.

He was soon to follow, broken phrases in both the common tongue and Tevinter spilled from his lips, terms of endearment flowed against her ears. As his body reacted in kind to hers until he collapsed on top of her.

Fenris slowly pulled from her, not wishing to be parted from her, but something was wrong. An ache began in his head and he felt odd. Rolling off of her, he watched as she offered him a last smile, muttering another, "I want you Fenris." Before sleep claimed her.

The escaped elf lay there for a long time, unable to find sleep like the object of his affection. He slowly rose from the bed, slipping back into his armour, he felt like a coward. He reached down for the red sash of her robe and fiddled with it as he stood before the fireplace. His forehead touched the cool stone as the ache expanded into thoughts, memories. A young elf girl, Varania. A competition.

These thoughts ran an unending circle in his mind before a voice woke him.

"Was it that bad?"

He nearly choked, bad? Anything but. "No... It was fine." He saw her eyes, still vulnerable, his words were hurting her. Those eyes roved his form, already dressed, shame built in him. "No, that is insufficient," He gave her a look trying to explain it all in that. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed..."

She smiled at him, a disarming smile as she sat up, her body was still bare and she knew it. Pulling the covers with her she wrapped herself in them, goose bumps from the cool air on her shoulders. He wanted to kiss them away. "Are your markings painful? I'm sorry, I should've been more careful—"

"No. It is not that. I... I remembered things, of my life before.. I'm so sorry; this is just too much... too fast."

He watched her lips open and close once, her eyes going downcast, sighing softly, "'It's not you, it's me?' Fenris... I care for you, I want to help—"

Once more he cut her off, with a quick shake of his head. His fingers curling around the red sash in his hand. "I... I have to go Hawke, I'm sorry."

He turned and left, exiting the room quickly and purposefully. After the door shut behind him he stood there, her sash in his fingers. He stared down at it thoughts racing of entering the room again and taking her twice more as he had. Ghostly memories of her fingers rained down on him, touching and caressing him—

His thoughts were cut off when he heard the strangled sob of the woman behind the door. He had never heard her cry, or even heard _of _her crying. His fists tightened, _Hawke. _How could he have made her cry?

Sash in hand, Fenris exited her home, wandering Hightown in the dark of the night. He barely realized he was back in his home till he collapsed on his bed. He laid there for hours, fiddling with the red sash, the only physical reminder he had from their love making, as she had been gentle enough not to leave marks. Finally, he tied it around his wrist and lay back. A silent and unspoken of tear ran down his cheek just as sleep claimed him.


	2. The Sash, Part 2

_AN: So.. I had another little thought with this one. I couldn't just let it end! I love my Fenris much too much. Here is a second part, I don't know if I'll continue this in a sequence or just fill it with one-shots or the like. _

_Anyways, nothing is mine (sadface) have fun!_

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**The Sash Part 2**_  
_

"And then I said, 'You mean the reason my hands glow is because of magic?' Oh! You should've seen his face! It got so red I thought he was going to pop, I kind of had this urge to poke, and see if it would. But he had a sword, I was injured already enough... so I settled for just falling on my arse and letting Aveline charge in ahead." The woman's face was covered in blood, but her amusement was also present. This woman was something he could barely take his eyes off of, when she wasn't looking. Hawke flicked her strawberry locks from her eyes to watch the abomination work on her lifted leg. It was draped over the side of one of his work tables, she had refused to get on it, claiming it was 'too morbid for such a pretty young woman'. Fenris was just glad she didn't lie down because of all the unbidden images that he knew would rush into his mind.

Unconsciously, his fingers fiddled with the silken red sash around his wrist. Images, touches, smells and sounds assaulted his mind of that night. He had been so foolish to run away. When his fingers slipped from the silk the sound of her sobs echoed in his mind. He grunted and shook his head, ignoring the confused look the rogue Dwarf Varric shot him.

"You were good to come here then, Hawke," how the abomination's voice irked him, he felt goose bumps rise on his skin, if he killed him now, then the world would be free of this weak mage... But Fenris' eyes drifted over to the wounded mage. Standing defiantly with her leg propped up, her hands digging into her hips. He knew that look, her nails biting into the soft flesh his hands had covered in one night—a night too short – of passion. She was in pain. She needed his healing, and maybe even his friendship. "Why you don't just take me with you is beyond me—"

The shorter mage sighed softly. She kicked her leg over the side of the table, putting her weight on it now that the green-blue light had faded, a small wince was all that showed her discomfort. "So, bring the man who is harbouring a spirit? Good intentions or not, Anders, I cannot risk that. You are a friend, and if the Templars found out, they would kill you on the spot. It's better that you are here, where I can run to you when I need you." She grinned at him, that same heart-fluttering, breath-taking, disarming grin she used to send his way. Now all he got were half-lidded looks and gentle stares when she thought he wasn't looking. Was she ashamed of what she had done with him now? Did she wish to rid herself of the memory? It had been nearly three years and still they hadn't spoken of it.

"Plus, Blondie, what would you do if one of your feathers fell out! I'm pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle of renegade mage." The Dwarf's voice was a small comfort to Fenris. He knew Hawke confided in the small man, she had probably run to him after that night...

An image of Varric and Hawke tangled together in a fit of rebounded passion shook Fenris, but one glance down to the man, petting that damned crossbow so softly, he nearly laughed at the silliness of the whole thing. Varric would not jeopardize what he had with Hawke over a simple fling... he was no fool, nor a coward.

"A puddle? Really? Couldn't have thought of something at least a little more manly?"

"I don't know Anders, he has a point. You are kind _squishy._" Was it just Fenris, or did that have a second meaning. His green eyes flickered to the apostate's face, but no... no guilty flush, no secret smiles. Something awoke in Fenris that hadn't since that night.

Hawke waved a hand in the air, that foolish smile on her lips once more as she pointed to the doors of the clinic. "Onward!" She said, rousing a laugh from Varric, who quickly stepped to be at her side.

"Where to now Hawke?"

"The Alienage. Merril wants some help with her... magical mirror thing. I can't really say no, she has no one else..."

"Are you sure that's a good idea. I mean, none of us really know about this thing—"

"Varric. She's alone in a city after being thrown out by her own, sure, her methods are questionable, but I know she means well."

Fenris felt eyes on him as he looked up, meeting the confused gaze of the Dwarf. Varric sighed softly, letting his hands fall to his sides in defeat. Even though Varric had no real opinion on mages and Templars, he had a strict, 'dangerous things are dangerous' rule. Perhaps he wished Fenris to step in a speak about the dangers of mages? The elf managed a look at Hawke, his eyes being drawn to her swinging hips as he trailed behind.

"Meaning well means little when you are weak and very dangerous." Fenris felt himself say this before he could hold it back, but his comment was met by soft, understanding eyes.

"Even so, she asked my help and I cannot say no. I've said no to no one yet, I do not wish to begin now."

Fenris felt that indescribable emotion rise to the surface. What, exactly, did she mean by that? As she turned away and continued to walk towards the Alienage Fenris ran her words over in his mind. Was she really that accepting of others, did she believe if she stayed neutral, helped everyone she could keep everyone happy? A wave of guilt rolled over him. When was she happy?

He closed his eyes, seeing the images of her being ravished by him, that smile on her lips as he claimed her as his.. she had been happy then. Those piercing eyes of his opened into slits as he watched the woman, he made her happy, yet he had been selfish and take himself away. Knowing she also made himself happy. What logic was there to this mad race.

He would talk to her. Soon. Tonight.

* * *

Alas, tonight never came. After three days outside the walls of Kirkwall they had all been so weary and emotionally broken after Merril's loss, Varric and himself headed home, leaving the women alone to mourn. As Fenris stalked in his own house, unopened letters in hand, he thought of Hawke. She allowed Merril to make her own decisions, even if they led her down a dark path, she never judged the other elf, she never even scolded her. After the incident she took the blame for Merril, letting the wrath of the Dalish sing down on her weary body. Without stopping they had made their way back to the city, where she automatically went with the Dalish outcast. Sacrificing more of her time to cheer the elf up.

Was this woman selfless or just merely using them all?

Her vulnerable lyrium eyes peered back at him from behind his eye lids. When they opened he fiddled with the letters in his hands. He should try to read them, as Hawke had begun to show him.

So he tried. Settling down with a bottle of wine—one of the last ones—Fenris opened the letters with the edge of his finger, peeling the note out gently, as if it would rip merely for being touched by him. Unfolding it he placed it on the table, smoothing it with his calloused hands. The scrawl was neat, meaningful and easy to decipher, unlike the chicken scratch that was Hawke's writing. Squinting and concentrating the elf bent into his work, trying to read what exactly this note from his sister said.

He was so concentrated on it, he never heard Hawke enter. Never felt her sidle up behind him and look over his shoulder to try and read the letter, innocently eavesdropping. He only noticed her when her hand fell over his shoulder to fall on the note, pointing at the word he was trying to make out. "Acquaintance," she said softly. "She wants to 'make your acquaintance'"

Fenris nearly jumped at her voice, but stilled himself stubbornly. "This letter is from my... my sister, Varania. She has come here to meet me, in the Hanged Man... I need to see her Hawke." He could hear it in his own voice that pleading voice the others too with her, the voice she could not refuse.

Her breath was soft as she sighed, brushing her fingers over his shoulder lightly as she pulled back—a movement he did not miss. "Of course Fenris. Let's go now, we can call on Sebastian on our way there... just in case."

Fighting the urge to gape at her, he settled with a mild raise of his eyebrow, "You think it's a trap?"

A smile flitted over her face, that mass of freckles pinching as she grinned. "If it wasn't, I would truly be surprised." That same hand that had urged him on so many nights ago, the same fingers that had been stuck in his wounds to stop the bleeding, the same woman who plagued his dreams each night was being held out to him. In the physical form her fingers were outstretched, offering her hand to him.

He would talk to her. Tonight.

* * *

"_You are not alone Fenris, I'm still here, I won't abandon you."_

Tonight had passed. Again. Fenris growled at himself as he stared at his reflection in the now cold water, turned red with the blood of his sister. She should abandon him! It would be the only way to keep her safe, from him, from herself. He was more unstable than any mage. Angrily he lifted the bowl and tossed it at the opposite wall, the blood quickly staining wallpaper next to the door frame. His eyes widened at the woman who was standing in said door frame, her hand held out to freeze a portion of glass in time that had been rocketing towards her face.

Plucking it from the air she threw it to the ground with all the other broken glass, a soft sigh was hidden by humour, "And this is why no one buys you anything pretty Fenris."

Eyes hardening he continued to watch her as she crossed the room, she ignored his look, moving to steal the seat she always took. It was even still positioned the same way it had been since the last time they sat together and spoke. The last night she had spent teaching him to read. She crossed her legs and he realized that for once her body was not covered in the enchanted robes per usual, she wore civilian's clothes. Breeches and a loose tunic, her long hair tied loosely at the base of her neck. Her eyes watched him, equal to her namesake. "How are you feeling? Now that Danarius is gone."

It was very like her not to beat around the bush, she was direct with them only when not cracking jokes and laughingly flirting. He found himself answering honestly. "I feel no different. Danarius is gone, my sister is gone. I do not even have an enemy."

"But you do have friends Fenris."

"I'm not sure I know what that is—"

"Dammit Fenris!" her outburst cut him off, and shocked him slightly, she was always so composed. "Varric tried to knock me out so I wouldn't come here, but he is just as worried as I am, you've locked yourself up here in this dreadfully cold feeling house and you think we would not come and get you? Sebastion offered to come along, but I thought this was something I should do alone. Even Isabela was worried about you, she showed actual concern. You have people who care about your well being, your happiness—"

It was too much for him. All this talk of others feelings for him reminded just how very unhappy Hawke must be, constantly looking out for the others of their little group. His hands snaked in her hair as his lips fell down on hers, a strangled noise left her throat as his hand caressed over it, feeling the vibration of her throat working. A moan was strung out from him and into her lips before he pulled back from her. Still standing above her, grasping her head in his hand and looking down in her surprised eyes.

"Hawke, I was a fool—a coward to leave you that night. You are the only thing that makes me truly happy. And if there is a future of me being a free man, I would hope I would be free... at your side."

He watched as her face bloomed into a smile, her cheeks tinted a soft pink as her hands touched his face gently. She was always to gentle with him, and he finally understood that feeling in his stomach. It had to be love, this connection to her. She was everything he claimed to hate, yet he loved her. Believed in her when he really shouldn't have. His free hand went over her's and he smiled. Enjoying the visible shiver that ran down her spine. "You will always be welcome at my side."

Fenris cracked then; pushing his lips down on her he greedily kissed her. Her arms looping around his neck as a delightful squeal left her throat. Her tongue ran across his lower lip and he tilted them both, invading her mouth, knowing that he was welcome.

He barely knew what was happening as he lifted her up off her seat and fell back against the bed in the corner of the room. The one he barely used before this, for he barely slept. He lay back on the bed, his arms still encircling her waist, their lips attacking each others. Her body moved against him, hips rolling against his as a soft moan left her as she pulled away. Her hands were soft as they sneaked under his shirt, quickly slipping it over his head.

They both stopped. He wished to remember that moment; this woman was straddling his hips, sitting up straight, and his shirt falling from her fingers. Her back was arched with his hands on her hips, right where her waist connected with her hips. His thumbs rolled over the soft skin of her back, just under her shirt. Her locks framed her face as she looked down at him, her eyes soft as they followed the path her fingers took, tracing over his tattoos. Shudders ran through him again and again, like ripples would in a pond.

Neither of them said anything, nothing needed to be said. Their bodies spoke better than their words ever could. Fenris was suddenly hungry for her, and he surprised her by reaching up and tearing the thin cloth of her tunic down the center, exposing her bare breasts. Which were quickly enveloped in his large hands. His calloused skin sending such a strange sensation down Hawke's spine that she was nearly crying in joy.

Hawke tilted her head back, exposing her throat as she moaned his name, hips rubbing against his, his desire for her already pressed against her. She felt his mouth, hot, wet and needy, on her chest as he pulled her close and she worked on his pants. Fingers digging deep into his sides as she slowly removed his trousers, only lifting her hips and destroying their friction for a second. Fenris was not as patient, like her shirt, her pants did not make it. Quickly torn and thrown to the side they were finally skin to skin.

She stretched herself against him, her desire as evident as his. "Please don't leave me again Fenris," she mewled into his ear, her voice desperate and vulnerable.

He grabbed her possessively, feeling her lips on his throat he rubbed himself against her. Trying to postpone the inevitable joining of their bodies. Her answering moan gave him the strength to speak.

"Never."

Perhaps it was his words, or his tone, but something about her changed suddenly. He watched as she tilted her head up and caught his eyes, a smile on her sweet, bruised lips before she rubbed herself against him. Her core pressed against him.

"Then make me yours, free man."

And he did. Again and again. With each thrust into the soft woman sensation flooded him. He was surrounded by her. Physically by her sweet feminine walls holding him inside herself and figuratively by the love and trust she showed him.

Soon—too soon, her name was his mantra the way his was to her. They joined each other as they fell into ecstasy.

Fenris held her tight, a fear of her getting up to leave him the way he had her bubbled in his chest. He couldn't allow that, he was too weak.

But instead, the woman nuzzled her face into the sweat covered juncture of his throat, lips tasting him lazily. Her toes kicked at the blanket under them and she reached to pull it over them, slipping off his body with a surprised yelp. Which he answered with a small chuckle. His eyes met hers as she looked up at him. Face red from their last efforts, lips bruised and eyes half-lidded, she was beautiful.

"It's not nice to laugh at a woman, you know."

"Mm, it's not? Then I apologize, I will try to be more courteous."

A low chuckle vibrated from her throat as she placed her head on his shoulder, automatically and arm went around her waist and his free hand brushed a tickling hair from her face. "You don't need courtesy when you're as... capable as that."

He rose a brow, knowing she could not see it in the dim lighting. "Are you... complementing my skills?"

"Skills?" She waved a hand, all the candles in the room dimmed. "More like talents, I'm pretty sure you're a mage."

Laughing, a full out laugh, he chose not to respond, merely pulling her close to his body, where she fit so perfectly, her little toes dragging across his legs, hips aligned perfectly, hands laid gently on his chest.

"You ruined my clothes Fenris.. how am I going to get home?"

"We'll sneak you back before the sun is up."

"Hrmm..." Her voice drifted off as sleep reached up and grasped her, pulling her under.

Once more he could not fall asleep like the object of his affection, but not because of guilt...

But because he could not look away from her face, and from the corner of his eye he saw that gauntlet on his desk, the red sash tightly wrapped around the wrist... and he allowed himself one last smile before meeting her again in the Fade.


End file.
